


Battleground

by SMB814



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-14
Updated: 2006-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SMB814/pseuds/SMB814
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't his fault.  Really, it wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battleground

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Mild language, misuse of spaghetti sauce, and abuse of a toy parrot.  
> **Time Frame:** Season 10, no spoilers  
> **Disclaimer:** Nope, don't own it. Will never own it. Will never make money off of it. Anybody want a parrot?  
> **Author's Notes:** My first Stargate fic since 2002. I guess I can write short, pointless stories after all, eh? *g*

Bill Lee refused to accept responsibility for this. He _refused_. There were, after all, people far more responsible for it than him.

Dr. Michaels, for instance, the new scientist who transferred here last week from Area 51. If he hadn't spilled that purple goo from P4Y 857 all over Bill's desk, thus making his office reek and glow like a toxic dump, Bill would never even have gone to the commissary to eat. No, he would have happily eaten in his office like he did 99% of the time.

Or he could blame Alan Croftwright for not making The Adhesive Compendium available in computerized form, thus forcing Bill to not only take his laptop to the commissary, but also that ridiculously large book, all to determine how to remove that psychedelic, stinky goo from his electro-spectrum analyzer.

Or he could blame Lt. Keegan for bringing Bubba, the mechanical talking parrot, a.k.a. the biggest Christmas fad since Tickle Me Elmo, to the commissary to show it off to her team before giving it to her daughter. Who brings a toy parrot into the commissary on Spaghetti Night anyway?

And speaking of spaghetti, he could _especially_ blame Chef Richards, who had decided to make spaghetti with meatballs _tonight_. How could he _not_ have known that meant trouble when half the SGC was already loopy after being stuck two days in quarantine from exposure to what turned out to be innocuous ladybugs from P6X-921?

Whoever it was responsible for this, it certainly wasn't _him_, hence why he was currently hiding under a table instead of fighting on the front lines.

He'd never really liked food fights, nor had he been particularly good at them, so how he was the only person here who hadn't fallen victim to flying food was completely beyond him.

On the bright side, he knew exactly what happened. As he'd headed to the serving line, The Adhesive Compendium had fallen. He'd bent to pick it up -- not an easy task when he was carrying half of his office with him -- but, admirably, he'd reacquired it. So if Colonel Dixon hadn't chosen _that_ moment to walk behind him carrying a tray with enough spaghetti to feed three men, he never would have been knocked into Dr. Timothy when Bill tried to stand, thus dumping all his spaghetti onto the talking parrot. Lt. Keegan freaked, and two seconds later not only did Colonel Dixon have a face full of Mountain Dew, but so did Dr. Timothy. And Dr. Timothy...well, everyone knew he really, _really_ needed to learn to let things go.

It disintegrated rapidly from there, and Bill, still half on the floor, quickly crawled under the nearest table to watch. Oh, the SGC had experienced food fights before, but never when the commissary was packed with batty people...and never, _ever_, on Spaghetti Night.

The fight never would have gotten so bad except for SG-1, who had brought the damned ladybugs back with them and, therefore, been quarantined the longest. Having seen it all, Bill could attest that _they_ were the ones who upped the battle to the next level. Colonel Mitchell was the one who turned a spoon on the edge of a table into a missile launcher and started bragging about how many "kills" he made. Vala was the one who transformed meatballs into cannon balls on Mitchell's launcher. Colonel Carter had stayed out of it pretty well until she was suddenly smacked on the back of the head with a fistful of pasta, at which point she began throwing her salad at anyone who dared look at her. Dr. Jackson had gone from merely amused to fight-back-with-sugar-and-creamers mode in two seconds flat when the meatball Vala was aiming across the room accidentally fell in his coffee. And Teal'c...well, Teal'c had just smirked evilly before dipping his many pieces of garlic bread in sauce and hurling them across the room.

The walls looked blood-spattered. Sauce streaked everyone's face and hair. Uniforms looked like target practice for red paint balls. Bubba looked like he'd been dunked in a vat of canned tomatoes and was squawking on a repeated loop about wanting a cracker. Nothing was immune.

Except, somehow, miraculously, Bill Lee.

At one point it looked like the battle was almost over, simply because they were running out of food to throw, but then a meatball sailed over the glass partition at the kitchen crew and smacked Lunch Lady Linda right between the eyes. The amount of food she supplied to the fight guaranteed no one would run out of ammunition anytime soon.

And they didn't. In fact, what brought the fiasco to a screeching halt was the sudden, unexpected appearance in the doorway of General Landry and General O'Neill, who was apparently here to check up on the SGC's efficiency. While General Landry's neatly pressed blue shirt took a direct hit with a sauce-covered meatball, General O'Neill's dress blues became the final resting place of a slice of coconut cream pie. Unsurprisingly, General Landry's incensed yell had silenced the room -- except for the malfunctioning Bubba, of course -- even while General O'Neill struggled to suppress a grin. SG-1, visibly battle-scarred, snapped to attention, and Colonel Carter and Colonel Mitchell tried answering the General's demand to know what the _hell_ was going on here and who was responsible for this...questions they had difficulty answering.

Bill knew, but he wasn't about to tell them.

For awhile, everyone fumbled around for answers. Dr. Timothy blamed Lt. Keegan. Lt. Keegan blamed Colonel Dixon. And Colonel Dixon blamed...he wasn't sure who because he hadn't seen who knocked him, but he was _damn_ sure that person was fully responsible for this.

Bill relaxed. He was safe! Colonel Dixon hadn't seen him! While _he_ knew this mess wasn't his fault, he suspected no one else would see it that way. So he just continued hiding under the table to wait out the war.

It would have worked, too. It _should_ have worked. But damn that Teal'c and his uncanny ability to detect everything.

Without warning, Teal'c grabbed Bill, dragged him out from under the table, and presented him to General Landry. "This is the man responsible, General Landry," he declared in that smug, amused tone he only used when it came to revenge. "I witnessed the entire incident unfold."

General Landry sighed wearily as he looked Bill over. "Now why am I not surprised?"

"Oh, Bill, what have you done?" General O'Neill said. "Didn't you get the memo that food fights are only acceptable if _I_ start them? And _never_ on Spaghetti Night? That tomato sauce is a bear to get out of these uniforms."

"But it wasn't my fault..." Bill started, but General Landry cut him off with a scathing look.

"I doubt that, seeing as you are the only person in this entire room without a speck of food on him!"

"Permission to fix that, sir?"

Bill's eyes widened. Oh, no. Colonel Mitchell wasn't suggesting what Bill thought he was, was he? They were friends! He had helped SG-1 countless times! "Now, come on, guys, let's think this through...."

General Landry, however, uttered a disgusted, "Bah," and waved his hand dismissively before turning and heading down the hallway. _Bill_ didn't think that looked like permission, but next he knew, Colonel Mitchell and Teal'c were pouring an entire vat of spaghetti sauce over him, generously donated by the kitchen crew. That was followed by General Landry's disembodied voice saying, "Just make sure he cleans up that mess!"

Covered in sauce from head to toe, Bill could only wipe off his glasses and sigh as the other personnel filed out of the commissary. Several Marines bumped roughly into him on their way out. Several officers gave him dirty looks. Several scientists gave him sympathetic looks. Lt. Keegan thrust a now-defunct, filthy Bubba into Bill's arms, the stupid parrot still squawking about wanting a cracker. Only SG-1 stopped to talk to him.

"Ah, don't take it personally, Bill," Colonel Mitchell said cheerfully, smacking Bill's back with his hand. The impact made a disgustingly squishy sound and undoubtedly left even more bright red splotches on his white lab coat. "It could've happened to anyone."

"I think you were sniffing that purple goo too long," Colonel Carter said, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Bill wasn't sure how her entire face had escaped the flying food except a single red splotch on the tip of her nose. "It does eventually make people high and klutzy. That's probably what happened."

"I think you look cute in red," Vala said, grinning and pinching Bill's sauce-covered chin. He tried to ignore the tomato wedges and lettuce nestled in her long, black hair. "That was the most fun I've had in days. If I ever need a diversion, you can be sure I'll come to you."

"Sorry, Bill, I'd stay and help, but I really need a shower," Dr. Jackson said, shrugging innocently. His face looked like he'd been initiated into a tribe of expert body painters, although Bill was pretty sure Vala had done most of the painting. "I'll stop by later and see how you're doing, though."

Teal'c didn't actually speak, pasta draped over both shoulders and clinging to his black shirt, but his grin and raised eyebrow said plenty.

They then turned and left with General O'Neill, who just winked and gave him a thumbs-up.

Bill eyed the deserted battleground-slash-rejected set from a Freddy Krueger movie, looked down at the squawking parrot in his arms, and sighed forlornly.

"You know, Bubba, this really wasn't my fault."

Fin


End file.
